


In the Eyes of the World

by orphan_account



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Gen, im only tagging major characters but practically all of them are at least mentioned, more characters will prolly be added later, nations discovered, nations revealed, public au, some media stuff but not near as much as other fics in this trope use
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-02
Updated: 2017-04-01
Packaged: 2018-09-21 12:20:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,029
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9548804
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: The nations, in their sheer collective idiocy, managed to blow their secret and now they have to deal with the aftermath. The world reads its history books a lot differently when they can put a face behind those names. There are certain implications to nationhood, and they aren't all good ones. In the blink of an eye, all hope of ever having a semi-normal life has vanished. They have forcibly been made public figures, and the world is never going to forget this.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I read fics where the nations get found out and it's always because of terrorists or some intricate political entanglement. If you ask me, the nations' biggest security threat is that England can't hold his drink and likes to have his ego stoked. All of this could have been prevented so many times if only any of these characters ever made a smart decision even once in their life.

_“Arthur, don’t be like this. Come on. You’ve had enough, it’s time to go home,” America_ _implored, l_ _ooking around_ _. Quite a few people in the pub were watching England make a spectacle of himself._  

 _“_ ** _No!_** _”—hic—“It’s time you learned your place, boy.” He wielded a breadstick as though it were a sword, pointing it at America’s neck._  

 _“_ _I am your father and you will address me with”—hic—“respe_ _ct.”_  

 _“Brother. You mean brother. Clearly, as I am too old to be your son,” America said through clenched teeth._  

 _“My word is bloody law!” He staggered off the barstool, brandishing his breadstick and speaking to everyone at once. “I am the greatest_ _power this world has ever seen!_ _The sun never sets_ _on”—hic—“my majestic_ _ar_ _se._ _I am the bloody_ ** _British Empire_** _—“_  

 _“Feel free to shut up any second now,” America’s muscles visibly tensed._  

 _“—and_ ** _you_** _are my colony. You will—“_  

 _A fist slammed straight into his nose with a splintering crack, effectively shutting him up and knocking him backwards into the bar. A sympathetic “ooohh” and a few harsh laughs rose from the crowd._  

 _The camera angle wobbled as the cell phone was shuffled around._  

The video ended and Youtube’s suggested related videos popped up. The Queen snapped the laptop closed.  

“It’s already gone viral.” 

Her scowl seemed permanently set into her features. 

“This is not as bad as it looks,” England said. “No one will believe a word I said is true. Look! Even the title of the video is ‘crazy drunk man thinks he IS the british empire.’ I was discredited before I even opened my mouth.” 

“Conspiracy theorists won’t care about that. It might even encourage them. They love to latch on to stories the general public dismisses.” 

“This is not the first time that the truth about nations has been leaked out in some way. These things happen from time to time. It’ll all blow over soon enough, we just have to wait. No one is going to pass on the story as fact—it’s just a joke. In this age, people chalk up everything they haven’t encountered before as impossible. They’re entirely closeminded to the idea of anything beyond their own existence. Almost no one believes in witchcraft anymore. Trust me, this is nothing to be concerned about.” 

The Queen glared at him. “You better hope so. Lay low for a few months. No going out drinking, going to concerts, none of that. Just do your work and try not to cause an international incident.” 

“Of course, your majesty.” 

* * *

 

Poland snapped at his chewing gum, blowing a pink bubble as he scanned the magazine section, looking for something worth reading. 

Celebrity scandal. Government scandal. Jennifer Aniston is pregnant, as is traditionally announced at least a few times a year. 

The American shadow government is turning people gay through chemicals injected into all vegan pseudo-meats. Australia has been invaded and conquered by lizard aliens, and the UN is doing nothing about it. 

Funny. He figured Oz would have told people about that one. 

The world governments have been concealing anthropomorphic national personifications for centuries. 

Poland’s bubble popped. He snatched up the magazine. There, on the cover, was a picture of what was clearly England talking to his prime minister, halfway out the doors of 10 Downing Street. In bold letters at the bottom, it read, “Nations Incarnate?” 

 **Anthropomorphic National Embodiments Revealed:**  

 **What the Government Won’t Tell You**  

 _Everybody remembers the top viral video of last week: a heavily intoxicated Brit went on a rampage at the London bar known as_ _the Old Shores Tavern. He is apparently unaware of what year it is and threatens another man with a breadstick, later asserting that this man is his son and colony, and he is the British Empire. The video ends with a physical altercation between the two, resulting in the “British Empire” getting a severely broken nose._  

 _This video has since_ _exploded across the internet and spawned several memes and parodies. The majority of this attention appears to be coming from American internet users—a.k.a. the U.S. shadow government’s attempts to trivialize the matter._  

 _However, a mere five days later, the same man from the video was photographed exiting 10 Downing Street with the British Prime Minister. His nose is shown to be fully healed, without so much as a bruise._  

 _Some light investigating revealed this man to be Londoner Arthur Kirkland. The paper trail indicates that he claims_ _23 April, 1992 as his birthdate—a date which just so happens to coincide with National Day/St. George’s Day in England._  

 _However, documents from every year before 2016 have had the birthyear redacted. This is no small undertaking. This is not something that could have been done by a private individual or someone in the lower levels of the gover_ _nment. This goes all the way up, and all the wa_ _y back through every single decade in which_ _official forms required such information._  

 _Tax forms, credit card applications, rental agreements, arrest records, hospital admissions—on every document imaginable, Arthur Kirkland’s year of birth has been redacted._  

 _Another piece of evidence is the hospital records themselves. Every one of them has the exact same story: a good Samaritan who didn’t know him had called an ambulance for Kirkland—who is always unconscious and unable to talk his way out of it. Once the ambulance arrives at the hospital, howe_ _ver, he is miraculously healed. Occasionally this requires a few hours of bedrest, but never a full day’s worth._  

 _The hospital staff refuses to let him leave without at least admitting him and giving him a full workup. He is always in perfect health, no matter how severe his injuries were._  

 _None of the witnesses to_ _these occurrences were available to be interviewed. A few of them cited confidentiality agreements as the reason._  

 _Records of such instances date back to the interwar years. Similar stories have been found in diaries of nurses and soldiers who served in the Great War._  

 _Accounts_ _of a mysterious Englishman named Arthur Kirkland have been uncovered in numerous historical texts._ _His visage has been seen in photographs from every era since the invention of photographs. He is shown with soldiers (fellow Englishmen of his own regiments), in the backdrop of important events, standing just behind various political figures, and is even pictured with the royal family._  

 _At the date of publication, references to Sir Arthur Kirkland and/or a humanized British nation have been found from the year 1590 onward. Our investigative team is still diligently researching. A follow-up to this article will be included in the next issue._  

 _All the evidence clearly indicates that “Arthur Kirkland” is an immortal, centuries old creature who can heal from anything. The one thing that explains all this is that which raised suspicions in the first place—the creature’s own testimony:_  

 _“_ _I am the greatest power this world has ever seen! […]_ _I am the bloody British Empire, and you are my colony.”_  

 _From this information, it can be extrapolated that the other creature in the video is an anthropomorphic nation as well. He only says a few words, but speaks with what sounds like a North American acce_ _nt. Thus, it can be deduced_ _that he is the avatar for_ _either_ _the United States or Canada, both of which are former British colonies._  

 _If some countries have them, then they all do. The creatures walk among us._  

Poland hissed a quiet curse and sped to the cash register, quickly ringing up the magazine. The street outside the convenience store was busy—of course it was, he was in Warsaw. 

He couldn’t make a phone call; someone would be bound to overhear it. And he couldn’t exactly send England a text saying ‘hey, some magazine found out about you being a nation, they wrote an article chock full of photos and everything.’ 

It was highly unlikely that some cheap gossip rag company had the funding or expertise to tap England’s phone, but still, better safe than sorry. 

He fired off a carefully vague text: 

 _England there’s been an emergency. I can’t tell you about it now. Meet me halfway in Hamburg ASAP_  

* * *

 

“Finally. Took you long enough,” Poland said as England sloughed off his dripping wet coat and took a seat opposite him. The waitress came over and he ordered some tea. 

“I have a life, you know. A country to manage. I can’t just abandon everything at the drop of a hat like this. If you had an emergency, I don’t see why you couldn’t have texted Lithuania or Germany or literally anyone else. You had better have a damn good reason for this, dragging me out to the continent in the pouring rain, in the middle of the work day.” 

Poland rolled his eyes and merely laid the magazine on the table. He sipped what was his third cup of tea smugly as shock and horror registered on England’s face. 

“Is anyone else reporting on this?” 

Poland shrugged. “Not that I saw.” 

England nodded shakily. “Alright. Alright. That’s good. That means our primary concern right now is this story getting picked up by a bigger, more legitimate news source. If we can prevent that, then this will all blow over and be forgotten about.” 

“Isn’t that the excuse you gave everyone when the video first came out?” 

“Oh, hush up. Evidence or no evidence, no one actually believes the stuff in these magazines, it’s all just conspiracy theories. Everyone will assume the photographs have been doctored.” 

“Sooo… what’s your plan then? What are you gonna do about this?”  

“Nothing. If I react at all, it would just add fuel to the fire. I’m going to ignore this issue, because it is of no concern, and why would I care about suppressing a rumor that is so outlandishly untrue?” 

* * *

 

“Toris, you will not belieeeve what just happened,” Poland said into his cell phone. 

“What?” 

“Okay, so you know that video where En—Arthur got so mind-numbingly hammered that he forgot which century he was in? And he just started spewing all this nation stuff? And Alfred freakin’ decked him to shut the guy up?” 

Lithuania chuckled. “Of course. Scotland forwarded it to everyone. I think it made the news at some point.” 

“Yeah, well, it turns out that someone snapped a pick of him with his prime minister like five days later. And so they started wondering if all that stuff he said was actually true, did some digging, and found all sorts of evidence. And then they published an article about it.” 

 _“What?!”_  

“Yeah! And so I told Arthur and showed him the article and everything, and you know what he’s gonna do about it? Absolutely nothing.” 

 _“What?!”_ Lithuania shrieked. “What about calling the company and demanding they print a retraction? Finding all the physical evidence they cited and having it destroyed? Getting the government involved and making them all swear to secrecy?” 

“Nope. He’s gonna go with the exact same plan that caused this mess in the first place,” Poland said. “I think he’s too stubborn to admit just how badly he screwed up. He wants to pretend this isn’t a big deal.” 

“That’s so stupid!” 

“That’s what I said! But then he basically said that _I_ was the stupid one and launched into this super long explanation of why his ‘plan’ was the greatest.” 

Lithuania heaved a sigh. “I think England sometimes forgets that his actions affect more people than just him alone. If one nation is exposed, then we all will be.” 

“You have an idea, don’t you? I can hear it in your voice.” 

“Meet me at the warehouse on 82nd at 2100 hours. Bring some other nations if you can.”


	2. Soviet Spies

Latvia cocked his head as Poland entered the room alone. “I thought you were going to bring some of your friends with you.” 

Poland felt his face heat up, grateful for the dim lighting. “I, uh, I asked Italy? H-he said he was busy.” 

Lithuania quickly brushed it over, berating himself for putting him in that position. “That’s fine. Six people is plenty. Any more and we would get in each other’s way.” 

“Five. Finland just texted me; he says he can’t make it,” Estonia read off of his phone. 

“Everyone is here then. Let’s move out,” Belarus said. 

“Wait! We need a plan first. We can’t just barge in there; we’d trip the security system,” Lithuania unfolded a blueprint onto a crate on the warehouse floor. 

“The cleaning crew usually locks up by seven or eight, so the whole building will be closed down by now. All the windows and doors will be locked, and messing with the doors will trigger a silent alarm and call the police. Also, this place is run by extremely paranoid investigative journalists, so we need to be very careful not to leave any clues. No footprints, no fingerprints, no nothing.” 

“How are we gonna do that?” Belarus asked. 

“Oh! I brought gloves for everybody,” Latvia said, digging out eight pairs from his backpack. “I knew we would need these.” 

“Great!” 

“Good thinking, Latvia.” 

“Thank you.” 

“Alright,” Lithuania said. “So I have a bit of a plan of sorts, but if any of you have better ideas, please share them.” 

He drew a black-gloved finger across the blueprint. “We approach the building from the east side. Both the north and south sides have security cameras above the doors. We go in through the window, find and destroy all of the evidence they have on nations, and then leave the way we came, simple as that.” 

“How will we get there without leaving footprints?” Estonia asked. 

“A lot can be told about us from our footprints. Numbers, gender, even height can be calculated from stride length and shoe size,” Belarus warned. 

“I believe Latvia can explain that one,” Lithuania smiled. 

Latvia shuffled around in his backpack for the necessary supplies, laying them out on top of the crate. “We shuffle across the ground with cardboard squares duct taped to our feet!” 

* * *

 

“F*ck,” Belarus stared up at the brick wall. The bottom two floors of the building were entirely windowless. 

“I do not know how to read blueprints,” Lithuania confessed. “I thought there would be windows. I suppose they wouldn’t need any, though; apparently the first two floors are just the printing presses. It’s a small operation, they do everything all in one building.” 

“So how do we get in? Latvia, I don’t suppose you have any climbing gear in that backpack, do you?” Poland asked. 

“Ah, no, unfortu…” his voice trailed off. “It doesn’t look like we need it.” 

Belarus had quickly chucked off the cardboard squares along with her heels and began scaling the wall as easily as a staircase. Fingers and toes dug in to impossibly tiny holds, foisting her higher until she reached the nearest third-floor window. She leveraged her weight on the ledge and slammed a fist through the pane, glass shattering into jagged shards and tinkling onto the tiled floor inside. She reached an arm through and unlocked the window, shoving it upwards to create a safe opening. 

She disappeared inside in a flash of blonde hair and black jeans. “I’ll be right back, I’m going to turn off the security camera and silent alarm on the south side so the rest of you can get in,” her voice faded away, already on her mission. 

“How did she do that?” Latvia asked, awestruck. 

“She is an amazing acrobat,” Lithuania said. 

Poland huffed and studied his nails. It wasn’t that impressive. Anybody could do it with enough practice. 

It took about fifteen minutes for them to get in, what with how long it took for Belarus to locate the correct room, and then she had to keep running back and forth for Estonia to talk her through overriding the security system. 

They crept into an office covered in pounds of disorganized paper. One wall had a large tackboard littered with notecards and photos and newspaper clippings, different colored strings connecting some of them. Grease and grime coated computers and filing cabinets. Mostly empty Mountain Dew bottles and cups with the last dregs of cold coffee in them sat at almost every desk. The trashcan near the door was full to bursting with chip bags, junk food wrappers, and energy drink cans. 

“So. This is what a physical echo chamber would look like,” Belarus peered at some of work-in-progress articles being produced. 

“Let’s just find everything they have on nations, destroy it, and get out,” Lithuania said. 

Estonia sat at the main computer server and began systematically deleting all the digital records they had. It was a long, involved process: the company apparently expected their servers to be hacked and had level after level of firewalls and protections in place. 

The others sorted through the piles of paper for hard evidence, shredding everything. 

“We’re going to have to take the shredder-container-thing with us,” Poland said. “Just in case. That, or we burn it.” 

“Wait! Don’t shred that!” Lithuania snatched a photo out of Latvia’s hands. “All the forms and stuff, yes, but we have so few photos. I don’t know how these people got their hands on them, but these should go to England.” 

Latvia nodded understandingly and began placing the photographs into his bag. 

Belarus was standing guard by the window, watching for any cars to come down the road, fingers drumming on the hilt of her knife. “Hey Lithuania,” she said, “why didn’t you ask America to come? He could have been very useful with that strength of his. It could have made getting everyone inside a whole lot easier. He not have said no to you. Besides, he lives for this ‘espionage’ stuff.” 

He shrugged. “He lives a whole ocean away. It would be best to get this dealt with as soon as possible rather than waiting for his plane to come in. And he is not very fun to deal with when jetlagged and cranky.” 

Poland thumbed through files on automatic. How did Lithuania get so many friends anyhow? And why would he want them? Sounds like a terrible idea. Wasn’t too many alliances one of the major causes of WWI? 

Better to have one best friend than a dozen sort-of friends. You have much less opportunity to get hurt that way. And it was a choice. It was by choice. Didn’t Lithuania know that? 

Though maybe it did have some advantages. None of them could have done this on their own. Everyone was here for a reason. 

Lithuania, the leader. Belarus, the muscle. Estonia, the hacker. Latvia, bringer of obscure but necessary supplies. 

And then there was Poland. 

The deadweight. 

He was only here because his gossip rag addiction ensured he would be the first nation to stumble across the only magazine trashy enough to risk their reputation by printing a story so unbelievable. 

He only reads that stuff because it’s _funny_. Conspiracy theories are a lot more entertaining when there’s a face behind all that craziness. 

Belarus swore. “We’ve got police cars coming. Grab everything, we’ll destroy the rest later!” 

“What? Why are they coming?! How could they know that we’re here!?” Latvia looked around frantically. 

“Someone must have seen the light and called it in.” 

Estonia’s foot was tapping at lightspeed. He slammed a hand against the monitor. “Stupid slow machine! They’re conspiracy theorists! Hackers! You’d think they’d have better equipment!” 

“We don’t have time to sort through everything! If you see a file with nation stuff in it, just take the whole file!” Lithuania said. 

They scooped up stacks and stacks of paper. Latvia’s backpack was already stuffed so full it was too heavy for him to carry and Poland had to take it. 

“Estonia!” 

“I’m not done yet! I need two more minutes! Once it’s gone from this server, it’s gone forever, and then we can leave!” 

Belarus yanked up the computer tower and slammed it on the ground. She pried back mangled paneling and slashed her knife through the exposed wires. She tore out the motherboard and ground it into the floor with her heel. 

“That good enough?” 

“That should do it, yeah.” 

The five of them scrambled down two flights of stairs and out the back door. Belarus gasped and her head was yanked back. A few of her hairs had gotten caught in the hinges. She swiped her knife through them and raced to catch up with the others. 

They stopped just behind the crest of a hill a good distance away, shielded by the darkness. Latvia collapsed onto the ground, panting, and Lithuania was discreetly wincing at the pain in his back. All of them were winded and the adrenaline screaming through their veins was doing nothing to help. 

Police cars rolled into the parking lot. They saw distant specks of flashlights surround and close in on the building. Yellow tape was already being unrolled. 

“That could have gone better.”


	3. Breaking News

England moved mechanically, eyes glazed over and half shut as he prepared his morning tea and beans on toast. He set the meal on the coffee table, sipping his drink and absently turning on the news. 

“—one local story that’s been taking the nation by storm this morning is that of the break-in at Wake Up! Publishing. The police report says the computer server was destroyed with considerable force, likely by multiple vandals. There were clear signs of breaking and entering—through a third-floor window of all things. 

“The strangest part of this case, however, is that the only things stolen were some files and the paper shredder. Most of what was taken was all evidence pertaining to a story Wake Up! has been working on about anthropomorphic national avatars. 

“As to why someone would go to such lengths to destroy just that evidence, well, the executives at Wake Up! Publishing have their own theory: the deep state is attempting to censor them because they don’t want people to know the truth. According to the police, the possibility of this being a publicity stunt orchestrated by the company has not yet been ruled out. 

The co-reporter cut in. “But what’s truly sensational about this story is the reaction it got. As details of the break-in were reported by local news sources, those same sources began looking into the article that spawned all this hullaballoo. Many went to the same agencies that Wake Up! reported in their preliminary article and obtained copies of the same redacted forms, confirming almost everything. The only evidence that remains truly unrecoverable is the missing photographs. 

“The notion of national embodiments has spread across Great Britain almost overnight. Stories are coming forward of supposed eyewitness encounters. Whether this is a case of mass hysteria or a true conspiracy unveiled is yet to be determined. 

“And now for an interview with Arthur Kirkland’s longtime neighbor, Mrs. Mary E—“ 

He clicked the tv off. 

They knew his name. They knew his face. They knew his address—his whole life would be common knowledge in a matter of hours at the rate this was going. 

A deep pit of dread lodged in his stomach. 

He downed the last of his tea and rushed back to his bedroom to snatch his cell phone off the charger. 

_37 missed calls. 18 new messages. 43 texts._  

He scrolled past the notifications, not bothering to open them. That could wait. He only needed to see the first few words. 

He was wanted at Buckingham Palace. _Immediately._  

He fumbled around his room searching for suitable clothes and throwing them across the bed. Normally for a meeting like this, he would prefer to have at least a half hour to get ready and make sure his suit was immaculate and commanded the utmost respect— 

Ah, screw it. This was an emergency. He was decent enough for a cab ride, and they’d have something he could change into at the palace. 

He stuffed his feet into slippers and flung the door open. 

Blinding white flashes assaulted him. Microphones and cameras were shoved in his face. Reporters yelled over one another, an indiscernible sea of questions and pleas for a comment. 

He slammed the door back closed. 

His queen was going to _kill him._  

* * *

 

Denmark’s face lit up just as his phone did. Iceland rarely ever said anything in the Nordic group chat, preferring instead to ignore its existence, which was a shame, because with the distance between their lands, that was Denmark’s main way of hearing from his favorite little buddy. 

It was strange. He knew Iceland didn’t like being so isolated, and he was constantly worried about the kid being too lonely, but then whenever the other Nordics went out of their way to include him in their everyday lives, he resisted. Almost like he was embarrassed by them or something. 

Denmark didn’t let himself think thoughts like that for too long, though. Iceland did love them. Of course he did. He was just shy. 

**Iceland:** hey guys england let the nation secret slip and now everybody knows. the uk is going nuts right now. ppl are going to start asking about other nations p soon 

**Iceland:** what do we do? what now? 

“Whoa,” Denmark whispered. 

So. Not just a regular “what’s up” text. 

**Norway:** alright stay calm, stay home, cancel any appointments you had today. Esp political stuff. just bcuz ppl know there are nations doesn’t mean they know who the nations are 

**Norway:** we need to lay low until we know how this is gonna play out 

**Denmark:** dont you think we should get ahead of this while we have the chance???? 

**Denmark:** if the people have figured us out, i dont think its right to lie to their faces. theres no point trying to hide what they already know. that could only hurt us in the end 

**Norway:** i don’t like it either, but theres a difference between lying and waiting until all the nations can get together and agree on a plan 

**Denmark:** u kno america will just tell us we have to lie. 

**Finland:** Iceland, how did you find out about this? Are you sure its true?? 

**Iceland:** yea its all over twitter. theres already 3 new memes about it. here ill send u some links 

Thankfully, the links he sent were not to memes, but rather actual news articles. So far the news was mostly contained to Great Britain, but a couple international papers had begun picking it up. It was spreading almost reluctantly. No one wanted to report on something so unbelievable, even with all the proof that a little digging turned up. Most major sources were shying away from it, reporting on other things rather than risk their reputations on a story that _sounded_ so fake. 

But the momentum was still clearly growing and gaining grassroots in smaller outlets. And slowly more major ones acknowledged it, cautiously, and with careful wording. Just in case they had to chalk it up to the Mandela Effect or mass hysteria a week later. 

It _looked_ like an elaborate hoax, but it couldn’t be. They just kept finding more and more undeniable proof, information that didn’t make any sense and wouldn’t add up to any reasonable conclusion except… 

_“I am the bloody British Empire.”_  

A timestamped photo of England with his nose broken side-by-side with him leaving 10 Downing Street, fully healed, just days later. 

A photograph of him with his current queen. With Princess Diana. With Winston Churchill. A painting of him and Elizabeth I. With the promise that this was only what they had found so far. 

A photo of him in a tank top, robe, and boxers, standing on his doorstep and squinting as if the existence of outdoor light was a personal affront to his eyes. 

It had been taken this morning and run in almost every article. The captions were various degrees of unflattering to insulting. 

**Norway:** that’s it im calling him 

**Iceland:** what are we gonna do about this? we cant hide out forever… 

**Sweden:** We need to contact the other nations. 

**Finland:** I’ll call Germany and let him know what’s going on. He can get things organized. I’m sure he has a plan in place just in case of this 

**Finland:** We’ll arrange an emergency UN meeting to all agree on what to do 

Denmark frowned. He knew how that would play out. Most of the major world powers were huge secret keepers. Heck, it’ll be a shock if the news is even allowed to reach people in China and Russia. And there have been times when other nations have demanded explanations from America only to have him read a response off of cue cards, no doubt written by some higher-ups in the CIA. 

His government had spent years training him in the American political art of answering a question without actually answering a question, and Hollywood and Broadway made sure he was one hell of an actor and could pull it off flawlessly. He was the king of bureaucratized bullcrap, and as the sole world superpower, no one else was able to call him out on it. 

That emergency meeting would only ensure that they all got roped into some horrible secrecy agreement and forced to spout some lie that was as blatantly see-though as glass. People would be mad, refuse to accept it, maybe some people would still insist it was a conspiracy theory, but it would all come out eventually. 

People aren’t going to let it go this time, he can feel it. Not in the digital age. Not when the knowledge was spreading so fast and finding the proof was oh so easy. _Something_ would happen, in a few weeks or months or years, and it would all have to get declassified. 

Lying and hiding now was only going to make their people distrust them, right when they needed that trust the most. 

He picked up his phone and dialed. “Hello. This is Denmark, and I’d like to hold a press conference…” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apparently Denmark has been ranked the world's most transparent nation.


	4. Press Conference

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ngl this chapter sucks and I'm pretty sure Denmark is ooc. But it's been sitting on my computer for weeks now so I'm just gonna post it already, regardless of suckiness

It did not take long to get it organized. A personal invitation from the queen was enough to make the reality of it finally hit people, and the press dropped everything and swarmed in to scoop up the story of the century. 

A mere two hours later Denmark sat behind a microphone on a draped table, accompanied by his royal family and Minister of State. A crowd of reporters were gathered in the space just below the raised platform, some of them coming up with questions to ask and others addressing live camera feeds. 

The queen cleared her throat and announced that the conference could begin. The whole room snapped to attention. 

“Is it true? Are there really national personifications?” 

“Yes. You’re looking at one,” she nodded toward the spiky-haired man beside her. 

“Hi. I’m Denmark,” he said with a grin and a wink. 

There was a clamor of shouted questions and camera flashes. The Minister of State tried to hush the crowd and remind them to go one at a time. 

“What do you mean _you’re_ Denmark? How can a person be a country?” 

“I represent the land and the people. I was born when this country was, and I won’t die until it does. Your history is my life. I feel what the people feel and act how they do. Nations are the epitome of their own culture. That’s what we call ourselves, nations—it’s a bit shorter than ‘anthropomorphic national embodiments’,” he laughed. 

“You won’t die until the country does? Are you saying you’re immortal?” 

He shrugged. “Pretty much.” 

“What do you mean, ‘pretty much’?” 

“Well, we can still die, but only if our country ceases to exist. And we can ‘die’ from fatal wounds too, just like normal people, except if our country is still going strong, then we’ll heal from it. It hurts like hell the entire time, but we live. Wars are pretty much the only time we’re in any real danger.” 

“Have you fought in all of Denmark’s wars then?” 

“Of course. Can’t exactly stay out of it when I _am_ the nation, can I?” 

“How did you become the nation?” 

“I was just born that way.” 

“Were your parents humans? Or other nations? How does that work?” 

“Um, our relationships don’t work exactly like humans’ do. I only had one parent, a father, he was Scandia. Nations aren’t ‘born’ like most creatures are; we sprout up out of the land.” 

“Are you saying you’re a plant?” 

“No! No,” he chuckled, “born from the land does not equal plant. It’s just different.” 

“Do you have a family? If so, what does that mean politically?” 

Denmark suppressed a sigh. It always comes back to that, doesn’t it? They can’t just exist as people, no, not _them_. Nations must always keep the political considerations in mind. 

“Ah, family is… complicated. Titles are more ambiguous with us. I consider all the Nordic nations to be my family, but we aren’t all related by blood. Sweden is my brother, and Iceland and Norway are brothers. With a bit more of an age gap, though. Me and Norway were the ones who raised Iceland, taught the kid everything he knows,” he beamed. “Politically… I don’t think it means anything. Yes, those ties were initially forged by historical events, but that is not what kept them so strong even now. There are plenty of families among nations that aren’t so close even with much more peaceable histories. 

“We represent nations, but we are also people. Of course we have relationships with each other, ones that won’t change no matter how much the world does. You can’t expect us to be cold, politically-minded machines for all our lives. We’re _people._ We love, we cry, we laugh the same as you all do. And I would do anything for my family.” 

His phone started ringing in his pocket. Apologizing, he quickly pulled it out and declined Sweden’s call. 

“You mentioned all these other nations… does every country have a personification?” 

“Yeah, definitely. We won’t even consider recognizing a government without a nation. That’s the most basic prerequisite for legitimacy.” 

“Nations are in charge of that sort of thing?! How much power do you have, exactly?” 

His phone rang again. Norway. Decline. 

He called again immediately and Denmark declined again immediately, putting his phone on silent for good measure. 

He backtracked. “It depends. Some nations hold a lot of sway, others are… treated like showpieces and nothing more, as far as their leaders are concerned. China used to have his emperors convinced that his seal of approval was the ‘mandate of heaven,’ if you believe what he says.” 

His phone lit up with a call from Germany that he pretended not to see. 

 “So how old are you?” 

“Uh, I don’t know exactly? I think I was born in the third century. I don’t really have many clear memories of being a toddler. It might have been later. I know that me and Sweden being born is what caused Scandia to start fading, and he was gone by the eighth century.” 

“What do you mean by fading?” 

He rubbed the back of his neck. Didn’t they realize he might not want to talk about this? “It’s how nations die. No country ever fell in a single day. It’s a long, drawn-out process of getting weaker and weaker as more of your land becomes someone else’s and more of your people consider themselves something else. Sometimes it takes decades, centuries. I think Carthage went out the fastest.” 

His phone had silently lit up with calls from Iceland, Finland, and Norway while he was speaking. 

 “Were you a Viking?” 

The phone glowed. Another call from Sweden. 

He couldn’t help the cocky smirk that flitted across his face. “Yeah! I was the coolest and bravest of them all. I sailed the seven seas and went where no one else dared. Nothing held me back. I was an adventurer for the ages.” 

“And all the conquering and plundering and pillaging that took place at that time? You participated in that too?” 

A glow. America this time. Wasn’t it like one a.m. in L.A. right now? 

“Well… yeah. I’ll admit it. I wasn’t a good person back then, but I’ve changed.” 

“Have you ever killed anyone?” 

This interview wasn’t as fun as it started out being. 

“Of course. You can’t go to war as many times as I have without ever taking a life.” 

Glow. Germany. Someone stepped out from backstage and whispered something to the queen, who waved it off dismissively. 

“How come we’ve never heard about nations before this?” 

He shrugged. “Actually, people have found out about us loads of times in the past. The only difference is that now cameras and the Internet exist, so the story spread and can’t be forgotten. We didn’t used to put that much effort into keeping it a secret. In fact, I’m pretty sure some humans built a shrine to Japan a really long time ago.” 

Glow. Norway. Someone came out to speak to the queen again, more insistent this time. She nodded and announced, “I’m sorry, I’m afraid the conference is going to have to end now. Any further questions will have to wait until a later time.” 

She stood up and left the stage, the others on it following her lead as the press clamored for answers. 

Backstage sounded underwater once the door closed behind them. 

“Apparently you’re wanted in Istanbul,” she said. “The other nations are going to have a lot to say about all this. The meeting is tomorrow at eight.” 

* * *

 

America paced the meeting room, nursing what was his fifth cup of coffee. He probably didn’t need to be drinking that much caffeine. The sheer rage alone had been enough of a motivator to counteract any jet lag he might have had. 

“You can’t declare war on an ally just because you’re mad you weren’t included in a decision,” Canada said. 

“Watch me,” America snarled. 

They had been the first to arrive at the conference hall. Their plane had gotten in late, giving them only a few hours’ sleep before America had forcibly dragged Canada out of bed at five a.m., saying they had no time to waste and needed to hurry up and get this over with. 

America only woke up that early when he had been staying in the Midwest for a while or when he had a nightmare and couldn’t go back. Canada was certain he hadn’t slept for more than a few minutes last night, which meant he was going to be even more manic and caffeine-dependent than usual and would definitely pick a fight with somebody, probably Denmark, possibly anybody who looks at him wrong. 

Turkey paused on his way in, startled to see other people already there. “What are you two doing here so early?” 

“America doesn’t have any patience,” Canada mumbled. He was half-asleep, having bundled his hoodie into a pillow on the table. 

“We’ve got a half hour before the conference starts,” Turkey said. “I think there’s some activities in one of these cupboards up here so you can keep yourself entertained. Better than pacing a hole in my carpet. You want a board game? A puzzle?” 

“We’re not little kids you know. You don’t have to babysit us,” America said. “Can I have a coloring book? Lots of adults in my country use coloring books. They’re not just for kids.” 

Turkey pulled out a coloring book and some crayons, setting them in front of America, who began placidly flipping through for a good page to color. 

“Which all countries are coming to this thing anyhow?” he asked. 

“It was supposed to be a UN meeting, but then it was too short-notice to get that many nations here. So then it was changed to a G20 meeting plus Denmark, but we’ll see how many people actually show up,” Turkey shrugged. 

He began getting ready for the conference, making another pot of coffee, making sure there were enough cups that weren’t easily breakable, getting tea around so no one would throw a fit that it wasn’t provided, making sure the window made of bulletproof glass was truly locked and secure so no one could be thrown out of it. 

Nations tend to get violent with each other quickly. It’s a side effect of immortality: the idea that death and injuries were easy come, easy go. Sexual relationships were often viewed the same way. In the past, the majority of nations had been in the practice of exchanging certain favors for desirable treaties. It was less common in the modern day, with the advent of globalism. Beneficial treaties and cooperation among nations was a lot easier to come by now. 

Germany was the next to arrive fifteen minutes later. America put a finger to his lips and nodded towards Canada, who had officially conked out. 

“Coloring book?” Turkey offered. Germany paused, then shrugged and accepted it, settling in on the other side of America so they could share crayons. 

_Somebody_ had to take care of the younger nations, even if circumstance forced them to look like adults far too soon. Children are still children even if they have more power and responsibility than they know what to do with. 

Other nations began filtering in after that, quietly accepting cups of tea or coffee and engaging in murmured conversation. Argentina, Mexico, Brazil, and Australia were also offered coloring books, which some of them gladly accepted and some of them were offended by the implication, opting to play games on their phone instead. 

“Oh, what the bloody hell is this?” England traipsed in. “Old Man Turkey’s Daycare Center?” 

“I just happen to like coloring books, okay?!” 

“Leave them alone, Inghilterra.” 

Germany coughed, face turning slightly red. “It would be rude to refuse a host’s offer.” 

“What’s going on? Why are people shouting? Has the meeting started?” Canada raised his head up from his makeshift hoodie-pillow, hair sproinging out in all directions. 

“Way to go, Angleterre, it only took you two seconds to ruin everything. I think that’s a record,” France said. India snorted, almost choking on his tea. 

Germany cleared his throat, closing his coloring book and neatly lining up the crayons he had been using beside it. “I think everybody is here now. Let’s move on to the topic at hand. We are here to discuss the solution to an international crisis that will affect the entire globe.” 

“I think ‘crisis’ is a bit of a stretch,” Denmark said. 

“It’s really not,” America said. He poured out the cold coffee he had forgotten about into the sink, refilling the mug with fresh liquid. 

“I think the solution to this is pretty simple. Just stop the news from spreading. Contain and suppress it before it gets out of hand,” China said. 

“That’s not really an option for everybody. Most countries have freedom of the press nowadays,” South Korea said. He hated debates like this. He had to walk a fine line between wanting his older brother’s approval and disagreeing with him entirely. 

China rolled his eyes. “Every government keeps secrets from its people. It’s necessary. This one can’t afford to be leaked. All of you need to get off your high horse and do what needs to be done.” 

“Ooh yeah, how dare we respect our citizens’ rights. What idiots we are,” America said. 

“Don’t play like you are so much better than everybody else, Amerika. You have even more reasons than we do to want to stop this from getting out. If Denmark hadn’t shown his hand and held that press conference, you would be demanding that we all find a way to twist the story and lie to our people’s faces,” Russia said. 

“’Shown my hand’? What are you talking about? That press conference wasn’t some sort of a power play or anything,” Denmark said. 

“Then how come you held it before the emergency meeting, before most of us even knew about the leak, and kept it a secret from everybody until it was too late to stop you?” Mexico asked. 

“Because I am a goddamn sovereign nation and I don’t need anybody’s permission to talk to my own people,” he snapped. “They had already found out about us! Trying to cover it up now wouldn’t do any good and it’ll just make people suspicious of us. The secret was already out before I said anything, and there was no taking it back. We’re public figures now. The best thing we can do is try to make sure we aren’t _hated_ public figures.” 

“We could have taken it back before the press conference,” England said. “We could have downplayed it, we could have said the break-in was a publicity stunt or a teenage prank, we could have had a proper roundup of all the evidence and made _sure_ it was destroyed, we could have discredited every local paper that confirmed the story, we could have said that whole publishing company was on drugs. Everything was reversible until _you_ got involved.” 

“No it wasn’t! That break-in was the point of no return. If you hadn’t been so freaking obvious with the destruction of evidence, no other newspapers would have cared and the story would have died out naturally.” 

“I wasn’t the one who broke into the publishing company. That was Poland. He had seen the original article earlier that day and told me about it. I told him to ignore it. Should’ve known he wouldn’t listen.” 

“Wait, you knew that the press had found out about us and you didn’t bother to tell anybody?” Saudi Arabia asked. 

“Oh my _god_ you fu—“ 

“I didn’t think—“ 

“We all know you didn’t think!” 

“This is all your fault!” 

“I had no control over the si—“ 

“It all started with that video—“ 

“The world is crashing down around our ears because England can’t hold his liquor!” 

“You and your goddamn stupid f—“ 

“We’re all gonna die!” 

“We aren’t gonna d—“ 

“Everybody, stay cal—“ 

“Terrorists can find us now! Do you have any idea—“ 

_“SHUT! UP!”_ Germany bellowed. 

The room held. 

He continued, “We are not here to cast blame. We are here to work out a plan of action. The truth about nations has been discovered. So, what is our most immediate concern now?” 

“Attacks,” America said, as if speaking to one of his military commanders. “Attacks can come in one of three forms: domestic, foreign, and independent terror groups. Domestic citizens are most likely to be outraged by the lack of transparency, who we are as people, and any perceived partisan bias on our part. Hostile foreign governments may attempt to aggravate any domestic divisions. Terrorist groups may attempt to kidnap and/or harm us to demoralize our people and assert symbolic dominance.” 

“Chill, mate, it’s a scandal, not a war,” said Australia. 

“How is ‘who we are as people’ likely to cause outrage?” Indonesia asked. 

“I can see it. I don’t know about you, but I am constantly offended by the personalities of certain other nations,” Mexico said. 

“If we had our people’s full support, then there would be no divisions that could be used against us. It would kill two birds with one stone. The only thing left to worry about would be terrorists,” France said. 

“Yeah! Now we’re talking!” America said. “And we could call it Operation Popularity.” 

“It doesn’t need a name. It certainly doesn’t need _that_ name,” England said. 

“This is why I held the press conference! We need to get on our people’s good side as soon as possible. Their support could make the difference between life as normal and hell on earth.” 

“You still could have given us some sort of warning, at least,” said Argentina. 

“This whole thing is easier said than done,” Romano said, eyeing Germany. “What if some of us are just fundamentally unlikeable as a person? What then?” 

Germany gave him a withering look. “Then that’s a problem for that nation to solve.” 


End file.
